onlinerpgcrewfandomcom-20200214-history
A Day in the Life
This page is about describing a day in the life of various people in the campaign world. Short 4-6 paragraph entries can be found here, detailing how various people live through the campaign world. The idea is that if we put in detail about people in this manner, such as what games they play, what foods they eat, among other things, the campaign will have a more robust feel to it. I was thinking these could read almost like a journal entry, or first person narrative, but whatever people come up with works. We could start by everyone writing one up for their characters (earning cps for doing so) and then go from there. Rawhide Lynch I first learned to shoot when I was a youngster, growing up away from most town-folks. I was the oldest of 4 children who's pappy was killed late in the first war (I was pertnear 5 or 6 years old, by momma's telling). Being the oldest, I had to help put food on the table, so I didn't have time fer that learnin' that people got in school. Tell you what, learnin' to shoot ain't easy. Least not at first. But I tell you what, a hungry belly sure can be a good teacher. After that, weren't much I couldn't hit. Got to be pretty good, even at takin' some big game at a distance. Didn't have much in the way of friends. Had a couple of neighbors growin' up, but they's usually too busy to go huntin' all the time. We used to play hide'n'seek with our slingshots, but they got tired of that after a while. Seems that no matter where they hid, they was always comin' home with welts and such. Their momma's didn't care much fer that after a spell. Seemed only natural to join the Army, just like my pappy. Them commanders got a whiff of my shootin', and promptly put me into their sniper academy. I was the first one to graduate in less'n 4 months. They tried all sorts of spotters with me, but they noticed that I was a lot better on my own, spotting, figurin' distances, and takin' the shots. Made a game of it fer myself, calling my shots as I got better. Made a little money in some shootin' contests at range. Made a couple really angry compadres, too. Seems some people are sore losers. HA HA HA. After seein' (and even doin') some of the things in the war, it's pretty difficult to live with myself. I done some bad things. All these markin's that we got really chap my hide, as they are a daily reminder of the things I done. I ain't proud of any of them. Well, less'n you count my turning on the Company and puttin' a bad hurt on them. Seems they don't like havin' trained someone who can hurt them pretty bad. They're a lot like them sore losers from them competitions. Anyways, I drink a lot, not only to ferget what I done, but also because I'm cuttin' all these marks off my body. Might end up disfigured a bit, but I don't care. Better to be scarred and mangled then goin' around with them markin's all over me. I made a pact with myself that innocent people shouldn't have to suffer, just because somebody else thinks they should. I tell you what, I ever see some innocent person in some sort of predicament, I'm droppin' everything to help them. They shouldn't be threatened just because some orn'ry fella decides he knows what's best fer them. That really sticks in my craw. Lyra Reed "Lyra? Lyra -- what are you doing? Pay attention!" Mrs. Marsh snatched the embroidery hoop out of Lyra's hands as she blinked and looked around. Several of the other girls giggled, hiding their smiles behind their hands. They all sat in a circle, sewing baskets to the left. "Lyra, I've just about had it ''with you and your daydreaming. You're going to have to rip all these out and start over. I haven't seen cross-stitch this messy since I taught the 7 year olds." "Mrs. Marsh, I don't--" "I don't want excuses, I want to actually see you do your work for once. You might have been able to afford mindlessness a few months ago, but now that your brother is gone, you'll have to be the one to support your family! No gentleman wants a wife who can't even cross-stitch. And lord only knows what we'll do about your music skills. I know your poor parents are praying for some fellow with a lot of money, who can see right through all that. Here, take this seam ripper." Lyra looked shocked as she reached out and took the small tool. "And this goes for all of you young ladies. We're not doing all this work for fun, I hope you do realize. This is a finishing school, not some sort of ... trade school," Mrs. Marsh said with disgust. "By the time you've graduated, we expect you to be able to run a household appropriately here in the Capitol. We aren't sending you to live out on some fronteir, or a mining moon, lord forbid. And this requires you to know certain things. Like how to pay attention, Lyra! Why, Lavender Pearson just graduated last year, and she's already on her way to the governer's mansion! Married to the governer's son, no less. That is the sort of match we look for for all of you. We do love all you dear girls, and we only want the best for you. Now, finish up your squares, and we'll move on to ballroom dancing." Pernicious Snoot In a modest, little shop with a modest stone facade on a modest brick street in Perdador, dingy sunlight pieced a single, smoke-stained window, illuminating the table where Pernicious Snoot spent his days hunched over a swing-arm magnifying glass. Barely five-foot two, the man resembled an egg with toothpicks for legs in a vest that was two sizes too tight. From sun up to sun down he sat there puffing away at a pile of cigarettes he rolled meticulously every morning, while his nimble fingers figured over puzzles of silver, twine, stone and leather. Now, Pernicious was not a particularly pleasant man. He had little patience for other people or the dim opinions they inevitibly imposed upon him. Nor did he waste his time with women. Having made it one night to thrid-base with Pearlescent Flume, he did not understand what all the fuss was about. In fact, the only creature on this planet whose company he managed to tollerate was his caleco cat, Mr. Cleevesdale. Yet day in and day out the door bell jingled as customers came and went, because everyone knew it was worth the awkward moments to secure the services of such a skilled and sweaty jewler. But what they did not know was that this Snoot wasted not a single drop of his passion fixing their baubles and winding their watches. Because every night when the sun went down, he would bar the door, slam the shutters and bound upstairs to his darkened flat. Then fumbling around by memory, he tossed some karosine-soaked hunks of coal into the basin of a small boiler, followed by his cigarette butt. The next ten minutes were always the longest of of his day, as he waited for the water to boil. The soft glow illuminating his excited and yellowed smile. Chunk, chunk, chunk, came the sound of small pistons, and the whirring of flywheels starting to spin. Then the grinding of gears and the slinking of chains brought to life a small circuit of lights. The wait was finally over, and a room came into view like few people had seen and fewer still would have wanted to sleep. There were sprockets and springs and pulleys and pipes and fans and gallons of grease. Levers and valves and wire and wrenches and bolts and copper in sheets. A phonograph lurched into action and played an orchestral waltz, to which the chains and levers which criss-crossed his flat seemed to match with metronomic response. He cracked his fingers and settled in for a long night of tinker and trial. A belt-driven pulley to turn a fan to cool his back while at work. A DC motor to power a press that can iron his vest and his shirts. A clockwork system that syphons fresh milk for Mr. Cleevesday three times a day. And his favorite pet project, the automoton that will shoo lingering clients away. On an average night, he worked until two or til three. Then his head would grow heavy and on his workbench Pernicious would fall fast asleep. Ulysses Hadley Ulysses Hadley had known Adella Purden since they went to Primary School together. He had told himself even back then that she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She continued growing more beautiful as they got older, and he had found himself so taken with her that he had courted her until she had no choice but to say "Yes". He wasn't too hard on the eyes, either, mind you. But she could have had her pick of the town, maybe even the whole of the surrounding countryside. She wasn't too keen with his 3 year apprenticeship, but she had promised to wait until he got back. She had come from some money, so he knew that he would have to work hard to keep her in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. The morning star slowly began to creep up over the horizon, slowly warming the ground and surrounding air. In doing so, the dew that was fresh on the grass began to steam, evaporating up into the air, cautiously fogging the countryside in a blanket of blindness. Ulysses sat on his porch watching the dawn break, relishing the moment. He was in a very good mood today, not only because he had just married his childhood sweetheart, but also he knew that today he was going to start making his fortunes. Ulysses was just beginning his trek towards becoming the biggest cattle baron around the Eastern City. His parents had bequeathed to him 300 acres (more or less) when they passed away two years ago. At the time, he had been apprenticed to Commander Englebert Mulroney, learning to be a cow hand and helping to run his Ranch. Commander Mulroney had been a big War Hero during the first Great War, but his health had slowly been deteriorating over the last 4 years or so. Turned out, he had contracted a bad case of Gray Lung, which was making it more and more difficult for him to get around. Ulysses had done such a stellar job with Commander Mulroney's ranch that the Commander had promised Ulysses the right to purchase 100 head of cattle at 50% of market value. Today was the day that he was to go make the purchase and begin his own ranch. He grinned with the anticipation, simply waiting on the further rising of the day's light and the sound of the Work Bell from town, which would signal that the bank would finally be open. He was leery of taking out a loan, but he also knew that with his knowledge of the ways of the ranch, he should be able to turn a tidy profit by the end of the year, thereby cementing his place into the League of Bovine Barons. Hoof beats sounded in the distance, growing louder as they came closer to his gate. Nervously, he sat up, wishing at that moment that he had brought out his scatter gun. Tension mounted as the sounds of the horses grew closer, finally materializing out of the fog to show two military riders and one man with a parcel heading into town. "Odd that one man would take two soldiers as an escort", he thought. He eased back into his chair, relaxing just a touch, before the sound of the Work bell broke the silence that remained. Getting up, he gathered his coat and hat, strapped on his six-shooter, and then strode to the gate at the end of their drive. Behind him were his home, his love, and his land. Ahead of him were opportunity and his future. He took a deep breath, opened the gate, and began walking towards his dream. Philip Chiswick *knock knock knock* Phillip rapped on the door to the small stone house. He had the number right, number 215E, the same house as last month. The small brick house was part of a walk up strip of houses, all right next to eachother with no yard seperating them, that same distinctive brown stone exterior uniformly covering them. "Hello, I am here to repair your radio?" "Oh yes. Took you long enough to get here. It's around back, the wife doesn't want you dirtying the place up. Last guy who was here tracked mud through the living room." Philip noted the man didn't recognize him, even though Philip was indeed the last guy to repair his radio. He also hadn't tracked mud through the living room. Philip had a photographic memory and could recall even minute details about his past. Part of his gift, it helped considerably with his work. He nodded to the man and headed around to the service hatch, climbed down into the service tunnels and made his was through the damp, foul smelling tunnels towards the back of the house. He never asked if he could use the side walks. He had learned long ago that his kind was not allowed to roam about Gigopolis freely, and now he got around entirely through the service hatches when possible. As he meditated on this fact he found himself allready at the back hatch and climbed on up. The man was there standing in front of the radio, which was placed on an outdoor table in the back yard. The brick stretch houses shared a large back yard area, though each unit fenced their own yard in. This one was a nice one and had a small elm tree shading the table and the grass was well maintained with a small flower garden and childrens swingset opposite the table. The planetary moons and bodies could be seen brightly in the sky giving lots of light to work with. The man gestured to the radio as Phillip approached. "The short wave reception seems to be working ok, its the long range reciever that is having trouble. I need you to hurry up and fix it, I have guests coming in an hour and they will want to hear the game. Get to work." Philip nodded and told the man he would see to it. The man walked away and headed back inside, leaving Phillip to his work. He did not turn the back light on or leave a lantern out, so Philip had to rely on the light of the moons and a small pocket flashlight he carried. He pulled out his tool kit and began working on the radio, trying to figure out what was wrong with it. In the distance he could hear the sounds of the pregame announcers coming from one of the other houses. The smell of cooking dinners was on the air, and more than a few dogs could be heard barking in the neighborhood. The radio was small for Philip's standards, a stock Federal Communications Bureau model, but of nice size for the neighborhood. Philip remembered that the man worked downtown at 1st Royal Bank and could afford quite a bit. "Apparently hes not rich enough to afford a quality radio." Philip muttered under his breath. Repairing the radio took a little over an hour. It was no big deal for Philip, just a few broken parts and no technomancy necissary to replace them. All it took was time putting them in their proper place. Philip marveled on that notion as he sat waiting. The man's guests had allready arrived, so Philip waited out in the backyard for a few minutes rather than knocking. He knew eventually the man or his wife, who had both been peeping through the windows watching him, would come out. After 10 minutes the man did. "Took you long enough. You've spoiled quite a bit of my party with your slow work, my guests have missed the starting line ups. Here's 2 credits for your work. Now get out of here before I call your supervisor and tell him how you disturbed my party." Phillip sighed, thanked the man and headed back to the service tunnels. He filled out his form for the work order, took half the payment and deposited it into the City Purse he carried as the city's cut of his labors, then proceeded headed down the service tunnels to the next job on the assignment list. If he was lucky, he would be able to finish one more before curfuew struck and he had to head back to the Technomancy Tenement. 'Dr. Emerson Winters ''' "Thank you, Father, that means a lot." Emerson had just been given a glowing toast by his father during a celebratory dinner meant to congratulate him on landing the job as the youngest full time doctor at the hospital in Sigma, the nation's capital.The crowd clapped politely as the speech ended, and more than a few hopeful girls gave Emerson their most sultry eyes. On top of being the top of his class in medical school and obtaining a career that would surely ensure his lifetime of financial success and good status, he also just so happened to be a remarkably handsome guy. He bowed politely to the women, and even considered briefly that he might entertain one of them once the party was complete. In fact, he rather did need to get his mind off his troubles. Despite the warm smiles his father and him were sharing, Winters thought back to just several hours prior he had a bit of a rowe with the senior Dr. Winters, as Emerson had suggested that, perhaps, he was thinking of starting up a free clinic on the outskirts of town, where he could help those that could not pay. His father threatened to withhold his trust fund money, and Winters had to admit that there was no way he could start up an establishment of his own without capital. He did not see much of a point at working in the hospital, as it was full of doctors and the best equipment money could (and did!) buy, whereas the slums outside were lucky to have a decent vetrinarian. There were other reasons Winters wanted to leave the city. He had only ever been outside of the city once before, on a "family vacation" when he was a child. His father was really just attending a medical conference at Eastern City. During this time, Emerson and his mother walked around museums, parks, and he even managed to talk her into strolling near some of the lesser parts of town (she never could turn down his doe eyes), and it was like a whole world opened up to him. There was all sorts of things to see and explore, and he wanted every bit of it. On the final day of the trip, as they were meeting up at the university his father was giving a speech at, Emerson and his mother saw a vagrant on the streets desperately trying to get into the conference. He was claiming he had some illness and that surely one of the doctors inside could help. An untrained Winters would not be able to identity the signs of Red Fever, and neither did the campus security that had the man arrested. Several doctors attending the conference but that had stepped out early noticed the event, but did not intervene. That night, his father explained that you just can't help EVERY person that needs it, and part of being a doctor is being able to make those tough choices, even if it does not always seem fair now. He gave the example that just a week earlier he had to let a child die so that he could instead save a single parent that had 3 children. A tough decision, but one that ultimately would save more lives. Winters understood the lesson, but did not understand how ignoring the plight of the meek man on the street really applied. Impassioned with a goal in life from this trip, he began his schooling at the best university Gigopolis had to offer. While he studied at the academy, he secretly started learning about as much as he could in all the various medical fields, even including sneaking some books about xenobiology from the library. his father expected him to follow in the family footsteps of a surgeon, so he made sure to always have top marks in that field, but he knew from the moment he had taken that trip at age 12 that he wanted to start a series of clinics across the Verse, and he would need to specialize in many things. Fortunately for him, his parents gave him more than money and good looks. They also passed down a capacity to learn a lot, so he absorbed as much information as he could. Winters was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when one of the pretty girls that had been eying him suddenly put her hand on his own and asked him if he wanted to have a dance with her. Looking around, it seems that the speeches had ended, and the band had begun to play. He smiled and bowed, and took up her hand. For now, he would continue to play his role as Sigma's rising medical star, but within a few years, he knew he would be able to take his show on the road. He knew he would be able to make a difference out there, and learn as much of the world as he could while doing it. "Let us dance, Miss, until the moon has surreptitiously turned back into the sunlight before our very eyes" Captain Wilkes Anderson He ran for what was left of the open doorway. The smell of burnt flesh and charred wood saturated the air. Rubble and shattered wreckage lie scattered everywhere. The only thing keeping him going was adrenaline. He couldn't even feel that his hand had been reduced to a torn stump of loose threads of tendon and bone. None of that mattered because... they were still in there. They still had to be alive, their voices somewhere in that horrible cacophony of screams of the wounded and dying. They must have survived because if they hadn't.... Wilkes abruptly awakes to the sound of faint clanging on the hull. The Rogue was always a strange bird, and sound carried on her with far more clarity than any other vessel that he had the privilege of flying. Even on the bow of the airship, far away from the engine room, he could still hear Gene tapping away on some negelected corner of the ship. The ship seemed to be in a constant state of repair, but she was an old bird. She needed to be coaxed into staying afloat constantly. And the captain wouldn't have it any other way. Wilkes gets to his feet, having another restless night of sleep which consistented of a few hours at best. He stumbles over to an old lamp, a hand crafted relic he picked up back on the Lonely Island on some mission long forgotten, and fumbles to switch it on. The dim bulb slowly flickers light into the captain's quarters and sheds a dim clarity into the places not obscured or covered by piles of memorabilia and trinkets gathered during his many years of travel on the Asylum. "Can't get the day started without a hearty breakfast" The captain thinks to himself as he pours himself a fine glass of whiskey, finishing off what's left in the the bottle from the night before. The red satchel had been secured and a course was set to make the drop and get paid. It had been a good week for him and his crew. And a good week was certainly better than a bad week. The captain puts on his reading glasses and goes about looking over the navigation charts. He'd spend the next good part of an hour pouring over the charts and his notes about possible leads for jobs and contracts in the surrounding area. Whatever made the most profit and put the crew at the least risk. Every job was a calculated risk, but the ship didn't run on hopes and dreams. She had mouths to feed, parts to replace, and an engine to fuel. The captain's task was thankless, he was fairly sure that most of his crew didn't respect him and thought of him as a bumbling drunken has-been. A by-gone relic of another era, like many of the baubbles scattered throughout his personal quarters. And maybe they were right. But as usual, Wilkes didn't give a damn about what anyone thought of him. They stayed on board for a reason. Because the pay was good and they were free to do as they wished as long as they fufilled their place and purpose on board the Rogue. They were the only family he had anymore. And he would provide for them even if they were kicking and screaming the whole way. That's just how things were done. Except that pompous Dr. Winters. To hell with that son of a bitch. Lord Fred Rigby Mulpeter Fred oppened his eyes and looked at the clock. It was 5:02 AM, he had been away a little over an hour. He was also here from 5:30 A.M. as his operating dummy resetting his auxillary battery so it would be ready for him when he returned at 8 A.M. but all that was later. Fred merely ignored his future self and went about his buisness. This body would fall apart much too quickly if he didn't get some exercise in and he was severely craving some more cocaine. 2 birds with one stone and it was 5:30 and he was remembering he forgot to reset his auxillary battery and he was then back in his room at 5 am doing so, watching himself wake and understanding what he had been doing here when he saw himself earlier. 7 A.M. Fred walked into the medical bay. The doctor was there. The two chatted briefly then the doctor ran his usual tests. Fred did not like all the poking and prodding. Needles didn't bother him but doctors always had, especially since he was high at the moment. The doctor didn't mention it though. By 7:15, Fred was in the mess hall grabbing breakfast. He prefered an earlier meal but Lyra and he had had a misunderstanding and since she was an early riser he prefered to get here after her. Wade was in the mess hall eating and writing in his journal. Fred did not care. 8 A.M. Fred returned to his room and grabbed his auxillary battery. He brought it to Gene and the two worked on the cargo bay door. It was 10 o'clock. The two finished with the door and went to the captain's ready room. Mulpeter passed himself from 2 hours later as the two walked down the hallway Gene was unaware of this fact. The captain was sober though he was nursing a drink. He talked about something, but Mulpeter wasn't paying attention very well. Josh and Frank were there also looking bored. After the meeting Fred returned to the Dr's lab and the two of them worked on the device for the doctor. They needed more data,but soon a protype would be ready. Noon. Fred was lying in the scanning contraption the doctor had been using to measure his abilities. Fred thought to himself 'Why did regular people always want to poke and prod technomancers?' He focused and traveled back 2 hours. He read the notes the captain was preparing for the briefing before it happened. The captain was none the wiser. He then floated through the ship to the comm room to lay in a more precise course for Bundoran passing himself and Gene from 2 hours earlier along the way. It was strange that if he simply ignored himself nothing abnormal happened but the moment he tried to interact in a non trivial way he would be snapped into the endless void. He took control of the sensor he had installed in the comm device and reset the ships navigation system while inside it. Next he returned to the doctor and the two discussed the results. "You are improving slowly, but noticeably." the doctor told him. It was true, but Fred's body needed a fix and chatting with the doctor was straining his physical stamina. 6:30 pm. Fred walked into his room to get his equipment for tonights movie and found himself from half hour in the furture in the opperating dummy arrainging slides in the projector. He wondered what that was about and got the rest of his tools together. After the dummy was gone he grabbed the projector and left. Along the way he bumped into the captain. The captain told him about Bundoran and how he wanted a travel film shown tonight instead of the adventure one that was on schedule. He didnt want people getting it into their heads that Bundoran was anything other than a pit stop for finding work. Fred could not keep it straight in his head. Had this allready happened? Or was it happening now? Or was this his future? He felt like he could no longer tell, though he knew it mattered. 8 days from now he would begin the slow hop back to one hour into his current future to prepare a drug to wake the captain when it was needed. The captain stared at Mulpeter waiting for his response. "Have you been listening to me at all Mulpeter?" "Yes captain. I heard every word and will not let you down. I will be sure to repair the flickering lights in the mess hall tommorrow. .... I mean, I will make sure to show a travel film. In fact, I believe I allready have one prepared."